


come morning light, you and i'll be safe and sound

by virtuosity



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: 2020 NHL Playoffs Bubble, F/M, Fluff, Mild Angst, Puppies, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:48:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25346485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virtuosity/pseuds/virtuosity
Summary: She hears the barking before she even reaches the door and can't help but grin. She wants to believe that their puppy already has some kind of ingrained sense that she's nearby, but rationally, practically, she knows that she just likes to bark.
Relationships: Morgan Rielly/Tessa Virtue
Comments: 15
Kudos: 105





	come morning light, you and i'll be safe and sound

**Author's Note:**

> I've been struggling with writing and feeling super blocked, but then puppy happened and puppy fic demanded to be written. So here we are. 
> 
> Hope you all enjoy!

She hears the barking before she even reaches the door and can't help but grin. She wants to believe that their puppy already has some kind of ingrained sense that she's nearby, but rationally, practically, she knows that she just likes to bark. 

She takes a deep breath, reveling in the knowledge that she gets to see not only her dog, but (she can hear him in her head adding ‘more importantly’) her boyfriend. It’s been three weeks since she’s seen them, and ten days since she’s seen anyone at all, and she can’t wait to be touched - especially by him. It was an easy choice for her to go home to spend time with her family when they were finally able to come back to Ontario - she thinks she may have gone insane if she hadn’t been able to hug her mother and sister for much longer - but the tradeoff wasn’t ideal. Scheduling when she can and can’t see the people she loves while accounting for isolation time in between and keeping a tally of the number of people she has come into contact with and who they have come into contact with has been...a lot. 

She unlocks the door and drops all of her things to the ground just in time to greet the smallest and cutest (in the whole world - she's not biased she swears) golden ball of fluff as it slides to an ungraceful stop before her. 

"Hello, my love," she says, kneeling to accept excited slobbery licks and burying her nose in her fur and inhaling.

"Hello!" Morgan calls from the kitchen, grinning. 

She laughs. "Yes, hello my other love." 

She picks the puppy up and makes her way toward him. "How has she gotten so big? It's been three weeks!"

"Exactly," he chuckles. "Three whole weeks."

She reaches him and cups his cheek, kissing him firmly. "Three whole weeks is right," she murmurs against his lips, enjoying the feeling of his skin against hers. It had been harder than she’d expected to go from waking up next to him every day to not seeing him for weeks. Their relationship had blossomed during those months they were holed up together in Vancouver, and they had only made it until the day she was set to leave for London before they’d decided that they would be moving in together as soon as she was back in the city. 

Which, naturally, led them to adopting the wiggling ball of fur in her arms. 

"Yeah," he sighs, pulling her back from her musings. "But I guess it was good practice for-"

She shakes her head quickly, closing her eyes against the way her stomach drops. "Not yet," she says before kissing him again. 

He wraps his arms around her and pulls her against him tightly, deepening the kiss until the ball of fur in her arms gets tired of being ignored and wiggles eagerly, giving a small yip. 

She pulls back, smiling. “I think she’s jealous.” 

“Well, she has had me to herself for several weeks."

"I know, lucky her," she replies, delighting in the light flush of his cheeks. She loves that she can still make him blush. She brings the puppy up to her face, "Are you jealous, little one?" She gets a lick to her nose in response and adds, “I’ll take that as a yes.” 

Morgan turns back to the counter where he’s chopping green onion and she peeks over his shoulder. “What are you making me?”

“Who says this is for you?” he answers. 

“I do,” she says. “I just spent the last ten days in isolation so I could see you tonight. You better be making me dinner.” 

“I feel like we’ve become so desensitized to all of this. How weird is it that that’s something we say like it’s normal now? ‘Oh my girlfriend is great, she made sure to isolate herself from everyone for ten days straight so she could see me before I go live in a hotel so I can play hockey’.” 

She puts the puppy down and wraps her arms around his waist, resting her cheek against his shoulder blade. “I know.”

“I’m glad I have you to be abnormal with, though,” he says, twisting slightly to kiss the top of her head. 

“Thanks, babe.”

“Anytime.”

She keeps her arms around him but moves to stand by his side. “So what are you making me?”

“I’m making you lemon chicken.”

“And?”

“And you’ll see.”

“And?” she pushes, scanning the ingredients laid out before them. Her eye catches on the boiled potatoes cooling on a paper towel. “Potatoes in jackets!” she yelps and he sighs with a smile. “You’re making me your mom’s potato casserole!”

“You do realize that if you insist on ruining all of my surprises, it could lead to a very anticlimactic big question at some point in our future?”

It takes her a moment to process what he’s said but once she does she feels a shiver run down her spine and looks up to find him watching her, eyes soft but tinged with uncertainty as if he’s gauging her reaction. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t thought about it, especially recently, but had worried that she would run when confronted with the notion in reality. A warmth spreads throughout her chest and she realizes that she'd been worried for nothing. She smiles up at him and says, “Then maybe you need to get better at surprises.” 

He lets out a relieved laugh and pulls her close. “I guess I can try.” 

“Good. You need to step up your game there, Rielly,” she replies. “Losers don’t win the Stanley Cup.”

He drops his arms and points toward the door of the kitchen. “Out. And take your dog with you.” 

She laughs, kissing his cheek before making her way into the living room, their puppy chasing her and nipping at her feet.

* * *

“At some point we are going to have to give her a name, you know,” he says as he sets a plate in front of her before gesturing to the sleeping dog at their feet. 

She immediately takes a large bite of potato casserole and lets out a sound that can only be described as indecent. “So good,” she says around the mouthful of food. 

“I don’t know how I feel about you making sex noises for my mom’s potato casserole,” he replies, sitting down beside her with his own plate. 

“I think you should probably get used to it, ” she says as she takes another bite. “What were you saying about the name?” 

“Puppy still needs one,” he responds, raising an eyebrow at her. 

“You mean we can’t just keep calling her ‘Puppy’?” she replies feigning surprise. 

“No, because we aren’t five.” 

“Shucks,” she says, returning his smile. 

“Do you have any new ideas? You only have two suggestions left.”

The day they brought her home, they’d agreed they would each be allowed to suggest five names for discussion, but, unsurprisingly, by the end of the day their competitive sides had kicked in and they’d added veto power. It had been a contest ever since. 

(She’ll never admit it, but the way he almost got her to agree to Locke only for her to realize at the last moment that she would be yelling, “Locke, down!” if the puppy were to jump on people was artfully done. He insisted it was timely, she insisted it was rude.)

“You already vetoed my favorite,” she replies. 

“We are not naming her Tallulah, Tessa,” he says. “How many times do I have to bring up that poor kid in New Zealand who was named Talula Does the Hula From Hawaii? Her parents literally lost custody of her. Do you want to lose custody of Puppy?”

“I never said anything about hula or Hawaii,” she points out. 

“It’s the principle of the thing. I maintain my veto.” 

She laughs. “It’s better than Gretsky.”

“Don’t,” he warns. 

“I’m starting to wonder if this five choices, five vetos thing was a mistake,” she says. 

He huffs out a chuckle. “You think?”

She rolls her eyes at him. “Okay, here’s my next one, ready?” She waits for his nod and then says, “Toepick.” 

He stares at her a moment as though waiting for her to laugh and admit she’s joking, but when she doesn’t, he firmly says, “ _ Veto _ .” 

“Just because they’re the bane of your existence doesn’t mean -” she starts, but he cuts her off. 

“We are not  _ Battle of the Blades _ -ing this. You’re a graceful wizard on the ice, I get it. Veto. Moving on,” he says with a laugh.

* * *

After dinner they move to the couch, bodies heavy with comfort and carbs, not caring what they do but needing to be near each other. They decide to try and watch Netflix, but it’s not long before she hears a soft snore from her right and turns to find his head dropped back to the couch behind him, eyes closed. She nudges his side gently - not enough to wake him up, but just enough to rouse him. “Your turn,” she says quietly. “What’s your choice?”

He grumbles slightly, before muttering, “Chabobie.”

She can’t stop the truly undignified snort of laughter she lets out, which wakes him fully. He stares at her, confuzzled, trying to work out what just happened. “What?” he asks, voice rough. 

“You just gave me your final name choice,” she says. 

His eyebrows shoot up. “No I didn’t!”

“Yes, you did! It’s a veto by the way,” she says with a tongue-touched smile. 

He stares at her for a moment. “You are  _ devious _ ,” he says finally, eyes wide. 

“Yes, I am. But you knew that already,” she replies. 

He lunges forward, hands aiming for the backs of her knees, but she pulls her legs up, curling in on herself. “No, no, no tickling, it’s not my fault you let your guard down!”

He changes his plan of attack, moving instead to pull her under him, pinning her hands to the couch above her head. “It’s not that I let my guard down, it’s that you’re opportunistic.”

“Listen, you don’t get to be the best in the world without playing the game,” she replies with a grin. 

“Or, you know, being supremely talented and working incredibly hard,” he says, rolling his eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah, that too, I suppose, but it doesn’t matter as much as you would think,” she says, eyes sparkling mischievously. 

“You know how I tell you that there are moments when it’s obvious how much skating warped your sense of reality? This is one of those times,” he tells her and she laughs. “So tell me, what did I give as my fifth and final choice according to you and your untrustworthy and questionable tactics?” 

“It was - and forgive me if I don’t pronounce this correctly - Chabobie?” she says, giggling. 

He blinks at her owlishly. “I’m sorry, what?” 

“That’s what you said,” she replies, doing her best to shrug. “Not my fault.” 

“That is not what I said!” 

“Yes, it is!” she says. “How would you know?”

“Because I know myself.” 

“Clearly not as well as you think,” she says. 

“Half asleep, generalized mumbles don’t count,” he replies. 

“Oh so you’re changing your story? You admit you said it, but now it doesn’t count? I don’t think those kinds of rules are going to fly in the big ole NHL there, buddy.” 

He leans down and blows a raspberry against her neck and she squeaks. He adds, “The NHL isn’t filled with dirty little cheats though.”

She knows that the look on her face is enough to convey her incredulity, and he laughs. “Okay fine,  _ but _ that still doesn’t change things. It doesn’t count.” 

“It counts,” she says, bucking her hips against him and he shifts to holding both of her wrists in one hand so that he can pin her hips to the cushions beneath her with the other. 

“Hey! Haven’t you cheated enough? No using your wiles.”

“My wiles?” she laughs. 

“Yes. Your womanly wiles. Behave.” 

She gives an exaggerated pout and he leans in to nip at her bottom lip. “Also no pouting.” 

“So I can’t do anything fun?” she asks. 

“Yes, you can. You know what would be fun? If you retracted your veto so that I can reassess the name I gave.”

“Yeah no, that’s not fun,” she replies. 

“It’s very fun, watch - oh wow honey thank you so much for being kind and accepting of the fact that you wormed that nonsense answer out of me in an illegal and unkind manner, you’re the best,” he says. “See? Fun for everyone!”

“First off - not illegal,” she starts but he cuts her off by leaning down to place nipping kisses up her neck, ending by her ear, where he proceeds to utter soft but deliciously filthy things. His voice is her weakness and she whimpers when the hand holding her hips shifts to pull her left leg up and around him so he can grind down into her. 

She loses herself in him as he traces shapes onto the tender skin of her neck with his tongue before leaving a series of deep purple marks along her collarbone. She wants to luxuriate in the feel of him against her, fighting as hard as she can against the ticking clock in her brain that’s counting down the hours until he has to leave. 

It’s as he has her writhing on the couch, so close to coming on his hand, that he stops, jerks upward, and yells, “Zamboni!”

Her arousal stutters, almost like it trips and loses its footing. “What?” she pants. 

“Zamboni! That’s what I was trying to say!” he says. 

She stares at him in disbelief for a moment, struggling to remember what words are before putting them into use. “What?”

“The name. It’s Zamboni,” he replies. “I want to name her Zamboni.”

She splutters, “That is what you’re thinking about right now?!”

“Of course,” he says, leaning down to nuzzle her cheek. “Winning against you gets me hot.”

“I -” he cuts her off with a kiss then pulls back and says, “I think it’s only fair, given your dishonest attempt at victory, that this name be made official without discussion.”

“I don’t think so,” she says, pushing up onto her elbows. 

“I do think so,” he replies. “Come on, it’s great. It’s unique, and it relates to both of us. Plus, it’s cute.”

“Cute?” she says. “It’s not cute. People would call her ‘Boni.’” 

“So? That’s cute.”

“No,” she says firmly. “We are not naming our dog anything that could be shortened to a verb that means fuck.”

He laughs. “I’m sorry?”

“Bone?” she says incredulously.

He gives a mock gasp. “Why Tessa Jane, the mouth on you.”

“I’d rather have my mouth on you,” she replies, leaning up to place a kiss to the underside of his jaw. 

“What did I say about using your wiles?”

She slides her hands into his hair and tugs roughly. “Deal with it.” Chasing his groan with her tongue, she ensures that the name discussion is put on hold for the time being.

* * *

When they resurface, satisfied and smiling, she insists that she can’t stand and it’s his fault, but he makes his way to over to kneel down next to their very much passed out puppy and scratches behind her ears. “C’mon, Z. Need to go out?” The puppy wakes, rolling from her back to her front and getting to her feet clumsily. 

She sighs. “Are we really doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Zamboni?” she mutters. 

He grins. “Yes we are.” 

He picks the puppy up and holds her to his cheek, waving one of her paws at Tessa and she fights back a smile. 

“Hello, my name is Zamboni,” he says, bouncing her slightly. “Aren’t I cute?”

She groans. “Ugh, fine.” 

The way his smile lights up his face is almost enough of a balm to conceding defeat. He turns to the dog and says, “You have a name now, Zammy. How does it feel?”

She gives a loud yawn and they both laugh. 

“Excellent, glad you’re on board.” 

She grabs the leash and the three of them make their way downstairs. She can’t help but delight in the domesticity of the moment. Despite the uncertainty of the world they’re living in, this thing they have is permanent -  _ they _ are permanent. Her and him and their dog and their home, they’re a unit now. 

It’s a warm, pleasant night, a welcome reprieve from the intensity of the storms they’ve had lately (and tornado warnings that she doesn’t care to think about), and they linger down in the garden longer than they probably should, letting Zamboni wander and sniff and discover. She knows they should be setting a schedule for her and training her that going out doesn’t always mean playtime, but there’s a calm to their surroundings, almost as though they’ve found a place where time is standing still and they don’t have to worry about tomorrow. He tugs her down onto a bench in the garden and she pulls her feet up, curling into his side. They trade soft kisses and laughter as they watch their puppy play and trip and chase her tail. 

She drops her head to his shoulder and he kisses her forehead.

“I missed you, you know,” she murmurs and feels him smile into her hair. 

“I missed you more,” he replies. 

“No, you didn’t.” 

“I did. It’s okay that you’re wrong sometimes.” 

She elbows him in the side and feels his laughter rumble against her. 

They are quiet for a moment before he quietly adds, “I’m going to miss you.”

She swallows hard. “I’m going to miss you, too,” she says. 

“It’s not really fair how little time we had between ‘I missed you’ and ‘I’m going to miss you’ is it?”

“No. It’s not,” she says, her voice small.

There’s nothing really to say after that, so he pulls her to her feet, keeping hold of her hand, and they go back upstairs.

They get ready for bed, find Zamboni already snoring softly in her crate, and fall into bed, curling instinctively into each other. She’s exhausted and she can tell that he is too, but they both fight it. She knows that if she falls asleep, then it will be time for him to go in the blink of an eye. 

They talk quietly, meandering from musings on the state of the world to plans for the apartment to nonsensical exhausted ramblings that send them both into hysterics. 

If she has to guess, she thinks she’s the one who succumbs to sleep first, but they wake somewhere between midnight and dawn wrapped tightly around one another. She’s not really sure who wakes first or who starts it, but their lips meet and their hands begin to wander. It’s slow and hazy, like a dream, and she finds herself quietly desperate to have him inside of her, shifting over him as soon as she can and straddling his hips to take him in. The only noise in the room is their heavy breathing and the wet sound of him sliding in and out of her, and she can’t tell if they’re staying quiet to make sure they don’t wake the puppy or because they need this moment to be theirs, just them, breathing each other in. Like everything else, she’s not sure how long they linger in that fierce intimacy; she loses track of how many times he fucks up into her, how many times his lips brush hers, how many times he pants her name into her ear. 

At some point he rolls them over, hitching one of her legs high along his back and increasing the strength of his thrusts but not the pace. He fucks her hard but slow. Her whole body tightens more and more with each push of his hips, driving her right to the edge, and she finds herself strung taut, but unsure if she will snap. 

“Please,” she pants. “Just a little faster.” 

He shakes his head, maintaining the pace of his steady thrusts. “Gonna fuck you like this until you come for me.” 

She whimpers. “I don’t know if I can.”

“Yes, you can. Gonna fuck it right out of you,” he replies, breathing heavily into her ear. 

He continues his steady stream of demands and encouragement, and she can feel loud moans growing within her, but he shushes her with a smirk. “Quiet,” he whispers, eyes flicking towards the crate by the bed. 

She pushes each moan, gasp, and groan that wants to escape her back down, swallowing them, letting them fill her up from the inside, and between that and his cock she feels so very full. When she comes, because she can’t not give him what he wants, she does it quietly, biting her lip until it bleeds, digging her nails into his back hard enough for him to hiss in pain. When she drags her hands down his back, drawing out the sting, it takes him over the edge with her. 

They don’t talk as he slides out of her, rolling to her side but keeping her in his arms. They just breathe.

She can feel him starting to leak out of her and squirms needily, letting the stickiness of him slide against where she feels tender and fucked raw. It occurs to her that she won’t have this for the foreseeable future - not his come, not his cock, not  _ him _ and she feels heavy with want and exhaustion. 

He needs to go, she knows that, would never dream of stopping him, and honestly, she wants him to. She is, and always has been, fully aware that hockey is a fundamental part of who he is, and she will never put herself in the way of that. She knows better than most what it means to devote yourself entirely to one goal and stand steady with your team, but finds herself cursing the universe anyway. It gave him to her full-time, let her grow in tandem with him and get used to sharing her time and her life with someone who wasn’t Scott, let her grow in a partnership where she was her own person, and then put him in a bubble where she couldn’t join him in the next breath. 

She knows that on some level she’s being dramatic, but the tug she feels, knowing that he will be so close but untouchable for who knows how long, aches. 

It scares her sometimes how much she feels for him. After that first week back in Ontario without him, she was terrified that she had gotten too attached. She has never been someone that needs the people she’s dating with her all of the time (though she wonders how much of that is tied to the fact that no matter what else was going on she always had Scott), and she doesn’t want to become dependent on him. Rationally, she knows that she isn’t - she could live without him if she had to, but ultimately she doesn’t want to. She wants to share her life with him, wants to create a life that’s theirs.

His grip on her tightens as he buries his nose in her neck, and she knows, somehow, that he’s feeling the same pull she is. She can’t tell if that makes her feel better or worse. 

They drift off, wrapped around one another the same as they woke, the seconds counting down to him leaving with every breath they take.

* * *

He tries not to wake her up before he leaves, which pisses her off more than anything else. She wakes to an empty bed, his bags gone from the bedroom, and the fading smell of coffee, and she’s out of bed like a shot. She calls his name fiercely, unsure if she wants him to still be there so she can say goodbye or scream at him. 

She freezes at the sight of him kneeling by the door, rubbing Z’s belly as she wiggles eagerly. His bags are next to him and the idea of him slipping out without her knowing makes her skin crawl. She takes a deep breath, forcing air into her lungs, calling on every inhale blue, exhale red mantra she was given in training, because as upset as she is, she doesn’t want this morning to be marked by anger. When he looks up and catches sight of her she truly hopes that she has managed to put the impassive mask she spent years cultivating in place, but from the way he’s looking at her he not only sees through her, but she thinks he may have done it on purpose. It’s always easier for her to say goodbye when she’s angry. The realization that he knows her so well mixes with her anxiety about him leaving to be with the team full-time, and for the first time in a long time she wants to bolt. Her mind races, falling into old patterns, trying to work out a strategy that gets her out of this as cleanly as possible. 

He stands and moves toward her, putting his hands on her hips, and leaning his forehead against hers. 

“Hey,” he murmurs and she feels herself settle ever so slightly. “Be mad at me, but don’t leave me.”

Without thinking she says, “I don’t want to do either one” and feels her anger and fear dissipate as the rest of her mind catches up with her. She still wants to throttle him, but it’s harder to justify when he’s pissing her off in an attempt to be kind. 

“I just thought it might make things easier,” he says softly. 

“Honestly it might have,” she admits. “But I don’t want it to be easier if that’s what it means.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” she says, voice low but firm. “Just…”

“What?” he urges gently. 

“Just be okay.” 

He pulls back with a smile and says, “I’m always okay.”   


“You know what I mean,” she insists. 

“I do. And I’m going to be okay.” He kisses her nose. “I’ll be home before you know it.”

She can’t help but smile at the word ‘home’ and he catches it, poking her in the side playfully so she steps back and smacks his hand. “You better be. I can’t be trusted to feed myself.”

He laughs. “I thought you were all about cooking these days. Isn’t that what you’ve been touting as your COVID-19 lesson?” 

“No, that’s the other Tessa. The one for them,” she says dismissively, waving her hand vaguely at the outside world. “I can’t cook for shit and I don’t care to learn. Kinda need you around for that.” 

“Well it’s good to know I’m needed for something,” he replies. 

“I also can’t play crib alone.”

“So all of the important things,” he says. 

“And sex,” she adds. 

“I know for a fact that you are fully capable of doing that alone. Tools and everything.” 

“Capable?” she scoffs. “I’m excellent at it. But I still prefer your tool.”

He throws his head back and laughs, just as she hoped he would. “You are such a  _ dork _ . God, I love you so much.” 

She grins up at him. “I love you too.” 

He kisses her and she wraps her arms around his neck, deepening the kiss. They pull back breathing hard and he rests his forehead on hers again. “Wish me luck?”

“Good luck,” she replies. She can tell just from looking at him that his excitement about being back in the game is warring with his reluctance to leave her, so she pushes him away. “Now go. I have things to do.” 

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes. I am very busy and important."

"Are you now?"

"Yes. I have meetings. And an interview.” 

“No, you don’t,” he replies.

“Maybe I do! You don’t know everything about me,” she insists. 

“That’s true, but I do have access to your calendar so at the very least I know your schedule.”

“I knew that was a mistake,” she mutters, hiding a smile, before letting her face soften. “Seriously though - go.” 

She steps around him to open the door and looks at him expectantly. His eyes scan her face and she knows he’ll be able to read the ache she’s already starting to feel, but she hopes that everything else she feels outshines that. She’s excited for him, she’s so proud of him, and god she loves him. From the way he flushes she thinks it must be pretty clear. 

They’re so taken with one another that when Zamboni uses their distraction as an opportunity and darts through his legs, skitters down the hall, and starts to sniff particularly at one of the decorative plants lining the hallway, they almost don’t catch her. 

They both call out a command and the puppy freezes, squatting ever so slightly, watching them warily. 

“Don’t do it,” she warns firmly and Morgan quickly jogs down the hall and picks her up, handing her to Tessa when he gets back to the door. 

“She’s been taken out already,” he says with a laugh. “Don’t let her fool you.” 

“Ah,” she says, holding her up to her face. “You just really wanted that plant for yourself then, huh?” Zamboni answers with a short bark, which she assumes means yes. 

Morgan reaches around them for his bags and she swallows hard. He stands in front of her, eyes raking over her like he’s committing the sight of her in his shirt and boxers, holding their dog, in the doorway of their home, to memory. 

“Go, you nerd,” she says, leaning to kiss him. “You can see me anytime.”

“Promise?”

She nods and whispers, “Be good and I’ll make sure it’s extra special.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” he says immediately and she laughs. With one more kiss he turns and heads down the hall to the elevator. Z gives a sharp bark and he looks back at them, a patented Morgan smile on his face, the soft one that makes him look like a little boy, and she waves awkwardly. 

He chuckles and waves back as the doors open and he steps inside. 

And then he’s gone. 

She sighs, swallowing against the twinge of not knowing when she’ll see him next and shuts the door. She leans back against it as Z tries to nibble on her fingers and says, “Well. Just you and me for now, little one.” The puppy doesn’t respond, but she likes to think she’s happy. 

She goes about her day, unpacking, studying, answering emails, and half the time she’s fine and the other half she’s not, but she imagines that’s just how life will be for now. 

He texts her when he gets settled in that night and she answers him with pictures of the puppy, but it’s not quite right. She can tell that the weirdness of the situation and the utter lack of any kind of normality or routine is really getting to him now that he’s officially inside the bubble, and she knows that things can’t continue on like this.   
  
She needs to get out of her own head and get him out of his, and right now that means putting on a brave face while he goes off to do what he loves, and settling into their home with their dog and focusing on her MBA.

It also means doing something to snap him back to reality. 

So she renames their dog.

_ Hey love, quick update - her name is Tallulah. Love you xx _

She starts counting the moment the text is delivered and only makes it to seven before her phone rings in her hand. 

“Hello?”

“It is  _ not _ !” he says without preamble. 

“Who is this?” 

“This is Zamboni’s owner,” he replies. 

“I’m sorry, I think you have the wrong number. This dog is mine and her name is Tallulah.” 

“That’s weird, because when I left her name was Zamboni,” he says. She can hear the smile in his voice and it loosens the tightness in her chest. 

“Interesting anecdote, thank you for sharing! Now if you’ll excuse me I have go play with my dog Tallulah,” she replies. 

“Nope.”

“Yup.”

“God, you look like an angel, how are you this sneaky?” he asks with a laugh. 

“Practice?” she offers, sliding into their bed and curling into his pillow.

“Apparently. Jesus.” She can hear him settling back into bed too and closes her eyes, lets the sound and smell of him on the sheets mingle just long enough for her to imagine he’s there with her. The soft steadiness of his breathing is interrupted by the slam of a door and he sighs. “You’re a much better roommate than -”

“I heard that!” she hears a voice call out and laughs. 

“Do you see how I suffer?” he says to her. “Be nice to me.”

“Who says I’m not being nice?” she replies.

“Me. I do,” he says. “Also Zam.”

“No, she doesn’t. You don’t have a telepathic link with her. Besides I’m her favorite.”

He gasps in offense. “Fine, put her on, we’ll get to the bottom of this. 

“Fine,” she replies, pulling her phone away from her ear and putting him on speakerphone. 

He immediately calls out, “Zams!” and the puppy gives a sharp back and throws herself at the phone. 

“No fair!” she calls, trying to rescue her phone from the pile of fur curled around it. 

“Perfectly fair,” he replies triumphantly, and she can picture the look on his face in detail. 

She takes the phone off speaker and puts it back to her ear. “You guys don’t get to gang up on me, you know.” 

“Why not? I know you’ll gang up on me.”

“That’s different,” she insists and he laughs. 

They sit quietly for a minute before he murmurs, “I should go.”

She sighs. “Fine.”

“Oh, I can hear the pout,” he says. “You suffer so much.”

“I do,” she says. “She’s a good cuddler but not as good as you are.”

He laughs then pauses and she realizes too late what she’s said. 

“Tessa, she is sleeping in her crate tonight, yes?” he asks firmly.

“Hm?”

“Tessa.”

“What?”

“I leave you alone with her for one day and all training goes out the window?”

“Yep,” she confirms. “By the time you’re home she’ll be completely unmanageable and answer to Tallulah.” 

“Great, looking forward to it,” he groans and she laughs. 

After a moment she softens and says, “Go, babe. We’ll be here, okay?”

“I know,” he says, quietly. “Can’t wait.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too.” 

She hears a loud chorus of ‘I love you Tessa’ from the other end and giggles. “I love them too.” 

“She says shut up!” Morgan calls to the group on his end. 

“Night,” she says softly. 

“Night,” he replies. 

They hang up and she drops her phone to the nightstand. She lets herself feel the ache for a moment then grabs the puppy and pulls her close, tucking her under the blanket with her. “Don’t tell your dad, okay?” she mutters. 

She gets a wet nose in her ear in response. She thinks that means yes. 


End file.
